by Callie Hart
After a while, he says, “I was going to wait.”
“Wait for what?”
He’s got a flat, impassive look on his face, which usually goes hand in hand with a statement or a parting of information that he knows I’m not going to like. “Wait for you to come home last night. I was gonna wait for you to leave, and then I was going to go find him again. I thought about it for a long time.”
Ice water fills my stomach. “Oh? And…did you? Did you go and find him?” He’d better not say yes. I’m going to lose my fucking mind if he does. I especially asked him not to. I couldn’t have made it any clearer—I didn’t want the kid dead and dumped into the docks, regardless of what he may or may not have done.
Zeth lies down on the mattress, on his side, supporting himself on one elbow. He’s leonine, all predator, thick muscles shifting and twisting as he uses his body in the most perplexing ways. No one else moves like he does. “I didn’t go, no. I knew you’d fucking castrate me.”
“Good. Because I would have. I’d have kicked your ass so hard, you wouldn’t have been able to sit down for a year.”
He looks impressed. “Only a year?”
“A decade. I never would have spoken to you again.”
A slow, nefarious smirk spreads like honey across that perfect face of his. “I love that you think you could take me, angry girl. It turns me on to think of you trying to kick my ass.”
“It shouldn’t. It should instill fear and panic into you, the likes of which you’ve never felt before.”
Zeth is the owner of a multitude of barely visible tics that I’ve learned to decipher since I’ve been with him. Few others would be able to predict when he’s going to strike, or when he’s going to smile, but I can. I know he’s trying not to laugh as we joust back and forth.
“I’m glad you didn’t go back on your word,” I tell him.
“I am, too.”
“Promise me you’re not going to? Promise me you won’t do anything reckless?”
“I don’t make promises like that, angry girl.”
I would have known he was lying if he promised not to do anything reckless. It’s physically impossible for him to avoid reckless. It should probably be his middle name or something: Zeth Reckless Mayfair. “All right. Then just promise me you won’t keep anything from me again. We’re a team. We’re supposed to be in this together.”
He looks unhappy about it, but he jerks his head once in a downward motion—as good as an oath in blood when it comes to my man.
“And promise you’re not going to kill Mason in the next few weeks. That little girl needs her brother.”
“You know what I need?” Zeth shunts himself closer to me, closing the gap between our bodies on the bed. “I need about ninety minutes with you, naked, here in this bed. And I need it now.”
“Ninety minutes? That’s a very long time. How do you plan to allocate all of these minutes?” I laugh as he relieves me of my coffee cup and sets it back down on the bedside table. My smile is slipping as he leans into me, forcing me back onto the pillow. The mirth in his eyes is still there, but there’s an edge to it now. A casual, secret enjoyment that tells me he knows perfectly well what he’s going to do and he’s going to enjoy it greatly.
“The first ten minutes are going to be me removing your clothes, angry girl. I’m going to torture you as I slip you out of these ridiculous pineapple print pajamas.” He inches his face closer to mine, his eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly. I have to battle with myself not to fasten my teeth over that full bottom lip of his. Goddamn, he’s so sexy. “Pineapples, Sloane? You trying to tell me something?”
My cheeks flush, heat spreading across my face, my lips tingling. He’s done some questionable things to me with a pineapple before. I distinctly remember being very sticky and punch-drunk from his attentions in the aftermath; whenever I smell the saccharine sweet smell of cut fruit in the cafeteria at work, I’m instantly wet, a thrill of adrenalin ricocheting around my network of capillaries and major arteries like a spark chasing down a fuse, heading doggedly toward an impossible and unbearable explosion.
The upper right hand corner of Zeth’s mouth twitches. “I haven’t factored hitting the store for supplies into my ninety minute plan, I’m afraid,” he tells me. “You’re just going to have to make do with my fingers. My tongue. My cock. Promise me you’re not going to be too disappointed.”
I sound like a flustered teenager when I laugh, way too breathy and ruffled given how many times we’ve already fucked, but he does this to me. When he pins me down with that look of seduction in his eyes, I fall into him like light falling into a black hole, unable to deny the gravity that pulls me closer. It’s physics, after all. Physics and chemistry. I can’t fight the laws of the universe, and I sure as hell can’t fight the lust that burns inside me like napalm.
There are people out there that believe in the law of attraction. Each morning they wake up and stand in front of a mirror, staring at their reflections, telling themselves that today money will enter into their lives. They’ll get that job promotion. Their lives will be better and more satisfying in whatever way they desire. I don’t need any of that. I don’t need money. I don’t need a better job, or a new car, or to travel the world. If I were to stand in front of a mirror and plead with the universe for anything, it would be this man, inside me, twenty-four fucking seven, his hands on my breasts and his mouth on my clit. I’m so abruptly turned on that I don’t know what to do with myself, as Zeth pops up onto his knees so he can hover his body over mine, his dark eyes studious picking me apart with the precision of a heart surgeon.
“After the clothes are off, I’m going to spend the next fifteen minutes licking and kissing your body. I want a lesson in anatomy, Dr. Romera. I want to know the medical term for each and every point where my tongue meets your skin.”
“I’m not sure my brain works under that kind of pressure.”
“It had better. Or there will be dire, dire consequences.” Moving swiftly, he ducks, biting down hard and unexpectedly on my collarbone; I gasp, warring between my need to reel away from the pain and lean into it at the same time. Zeth chuckles in a dark, merciless way.
“Then I’m going to go down on you,” Zeth informs me. “I’m going to feast on that pussy of yours. I’m going to stroke my tongue up and down you. I’m going to tease it inside of you. I’m going to eat your ass until you beg me to stop.”
I buck underneath him, trying to squirm away. “No, you’re not!”
He grabs hold of me, pinning me by my wrists to the bed. “What? You don’t want me to eat your ass?”
“No!” Jesus. As if he needs to ask that. It’s one thing feeling his fingers there, his hard cock, but his tongue? That just seems very wrong. Especially since my job is heavily focused on hygiene and keeping things clean.
Zeth’s laughter grows louder. Somehow, even more wicked. “Oh dear, angry girl. I thought I’d already shocked the prude right out of you. Seems I was wrong.”
“You’re not going anywhere near my ass with your mouth.”
“Maybe you’re the one that needs the lesson in anatomy. Hate to tell you this, doc, but your pussy is very close to your ass. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time down there already, and let me tell you…I’ve never had more fun in my entire life.”
I squirm some more, only half-heartedly trying to get free. “My ass is not to be licked!”
“Every time you protest, I’m allocating another three minutes to that area of your body,” he informs me. His expression is serious, the tone of his voice deep and resonant. He’s not laughing anymore, which tells me I better shut the fuck up or he’s going to be making me writhe against his mouth for a full half an hour. He’s not really going to do it, though. He wouldn’t, surely?
“That should take us up to forty minutes,” he says evenly. “The next fifteen minutes are for me. Can you guess what I’m going to make you do, angry girl? Do you think you know what I want from you?”
Zeth pouts in a way that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. “Well,” he says. “I’m going to want you on the bed, Sloane. On your back. Your head will be hanging off the edge, and I’m going to stand over you. You’re going to open your mouth for me.” He frees one of his hands, gripping both my wrists with ease in just his right, so he can trace his fingertips lightly over my lips. He pushes his index finger between them, forcing my mouth open. His finger probes inside, running over teeth and tongue. He pushes my mouth open wider, humming to himself, eyes fixed on what he’s doing. He looks fascinated, like he’s already imagining enacting his plans and how good it’s going to feel.
“I’m going to slide myself in there, angry girl. I’m going to fuck your mouth until you can’t take it anymore. You’re going to feel me sliding all the way down, deep into your throat, and you’re going to love it.”
I press my legs together, the muscles in my thighs locking up tight. It feels wrong to admit that I believe him, I am going to love it, but I know that I will. His hands in my hair, pulling tighter and tighter as he grows so hard in my mouth; the way his legs lock when he skirts close to coming; the way his breath becomes ragged and intense—all of these things drive me crazy when I go down on him. And when he’s a little rough…god, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I am so ready to jump him and do this already. I want him. No, I need him.
My desire to climb him like a tree is fierce. I want to take hold of the hem of his t-shirt, to bunch it up in my hands, to rip it off over his head, but Zeth still has hold of me by the wrists. They’re pinned high over my head, far from the smooth, solid, delicious feel of his skin, and that is almost too much to bear.
“Would you like me to come in your mouth?” he whispers. “When my cock is deep in your throat, do you want to feel me getting closer and closer? Do you want to hear me roar when I explode everywhere, so you can taste me on your tongue?” He asks me so intensely, brows still knotted together, unblinking, that he looks severe. His mouth is only two inches away from mine. I can’t stop staring at his lips.
Sweet Jesus. I’m a lost cause. I’m done for. I’ll never be the same again. “Yes,” I tell him. “I want you to come in my mouth. Please, Zeth. Please.”
“Good girl. You’re a very good girl.”
I am his good girl. Ever since I was old enough to think about such things, I’ve made a conscious effort never to measure myself by what other people think of me, particularly if their approval has been on the line. I’ve never wanted it. I’ve never needed it. Not even with my parents. I’ve always wanted to make myself proud, to work hard for me, to accomplish my best for me. But this man…shit, I don’t even know where to begin when I try to analyze how he makes me feel. It brings me such intense, unfathomable pleasure to make him happy. When he tells me that he’s pleased with me, I’m filled with such a pride that it almost makes me embarrassed. I live for it, though. I crave it like a drug. I wouldn’t sacrifice it for the world.
Zeth withdraws his fingers from my mouth, rubbing the pad of his index finger against the swell of my lip. He groans in the most electrifying way, and then he says, “Still plenty of time left. I’m going to give you what you want. I’m going to come in your mouth, but I’m still going to be hard for you. Once I’m done there, we’re still going to have another thirty-five minutes. Do you know what I’m going to do then, Sloane?”
“What?” He isn’t going to have to touch me to make me come at this rate. My nipples are peaked to painful degrees; every time I shift underneath him, they rub against the light material of my pineapple covered shirt, sending shockwave after shockwave of longing through me, making me pant.
“Then,” he says, lowering himself the tiniest bit further, baring his teeth a little. It’s such an animalistic, raw thing to do that my toes curl. “Then, I’m going to fuck you long, and I’m going to fuck you hard. I’m going to make you scream my name so goddamn loud that your neighbors three miles away are going to know who I am, and they’re gonna high five me in the motherfucking street. I’m going to bring you so close to coming that you’re delirious with need, and then I’m going to stop, over and over again, until all I need to do is blow on your skin to make you explode. Do you think you can take it?”
“Yes. Fuck, Zeth. Yes.”
“And are you ready?”
I nod, swallowing. My throat feels dry. My body is vibrating with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. Zeth sits back on his heels, observing me with a calmness that makes my heart trip over itself in the most terrifying way.
“Good,” he says. “Then let’s begin.”
Chapter Ten
MASON
Five Days Later
“I want to take her home. She’s bored out of her mind down here. She’s been fine for days now. It’s time.” I lean against the wall by the elevator, pleading my case to Sloane. No, the extra treatment Millie’s receiving isn’t costing anything, and yes, I sure as hell am grateful, but fuck! I want to disentangle myself from Zeth & his girlfriend (wouldn’t that have been valuable information to know) as much as I can. I owe Sloane my life; I already owed her way more than that before, when she helped with Millie. No one else would have stepped up for my sister the way she did. I can’t bear the thought of owing her any more.
“What’s the harm in keeping her in another couple of days?” she asks. Seeing her here is very different to seeing her outside of the hospital walls. Here, she’s the epitome of calm and efficiency, almost to the point where she appears mechanical. Like nothing at all fazes her. When I saw her at Zeth’s warehouse, she had been flustered and fiery. It’s hard to imagine her like that, now, as she flips through Millie’s chart. “Her sleep pattern’s irregular. She’s complaining of stomachache a couple of times a day. Both of those things could be underlying symptoms for something more serious.”
“She’s being left alone in an unfamiliar place every night. She can’t sleep because she needs her own bed. And she’s got stomachache half the time because Dr. Bochowitz keeps giving her all the chocolate pudding she can eat instead of her regular meals.”
“Seriously?”
I shove away from the wall, following after her as she begins to walk off down the corridor. “Seriously. Trust me, okay. Millie’s going to be ten times better off at home, back to her normal routine, than she is here. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, but it’s enough.”
Romera stops walking. “Okay. Take her home. But you call me the moment you think she looks under the weather, you hear me? Day or night. It doesn’t matter.” She hands me a business card, the kind all doctors have, a string of unintelligible letters tacked together at the end of their names. I pocket it, smiling. “Thanks, Doc. I will, I promise.”
“Good. I need to clear morning rounds. It’s a miracle you even caught me this early. I don’t need to see you out, do I?”
I shake my head.
“Then I guess I’ll be seeing you. Hopefully not too soon.”
“Hey, Dr. Romera?”
She hooks the tubing of a stethoscope over her neck. “Yes?”
“It said on that card of yours that you’re a trauma surgeon. That true?”
She nods. “Why do you ask?”
“You were in business clothes before, but now you’re in scrubs. I thought you might have been banned from operating or something.”
She clasps hold of both ends of the stethoscope, fingers wrapped around the instrument like it’s her most prized possession. “Something like that,” she says. “I had the flu. You’re not allowed into the OR if you’re contagious, Mr. Reeves. I’m sure I’ll be cleared for surgery any
day, though.”
******
Wanda’s so pleased to see Millie at her front door that she refuses to accept the crumpled ten-dollar bill I try to offer her. “I done told you once, I told you a thousand times, boy. That girl is welcome here any time. If I’m home, she can come play with Brandy anytime she likes.”
“I know, I know,” I tell her. “It’ll be late by the time I get back, though.” I feel super shitty; after fighting so hard to take Millie home, I should be spending the night in with her, but I need to work. I need to make money.
Wanda shakes her head, closing my fist around the money I’m still holding out to her. “It’s not a problem, Mason. I got her, don’t you worry. I’ll make sure I feed her and give her a bath. Now hurry on out of here before you’re late. It’s already after eight.”
“Ssshhhh—” I manage to stop myself before I curse. Wanda isn’t a fan of curse words. After eight, though? I got up at five am to go find Romera at the hospital. How can it be so late now? Wanda hooks a perfectly plucked eyebrow, giving me a warning glance. “Sorry. Hurrying’s not going to save me now, though. I’m already late,” I tell her.
“Well, then get on with you!”
I kiss Millie on top of the head, brushing down the fine strands of her hair as she grins up at me. “I’ll see you later, mouse. Be good for Miss Wanda, okay?”
She’s never anything but good, yet Millie nods her head dutifully. She doesn’t go into Wanda’s place until I’m down the hall and gone from sight.
I’ve got a lead foot and I’m blind to the color red as I burn across town. Mac’s in his office when I pull up outside the garage. He’s on the phone, shouting at someone as I hurry across the forecourt and stick my head under the hood of the Chevy Impala I’ve been working on restoring the past couple of days. I think I’ve gotten away with being close to twenty minutes late, but then Mac sticks his head around his office door and hollers at the top of his lungs.
